


Heritage

by CreatorOfDimensions



Series: The Northern Cold AUs [3]
Category: The Northern Cold
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Canon Gay Relationship, Coming Out, M/M, Minority Stress, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatorOfDimensions/pseuds/CreatorOfDimensions
Summary: After nearly eight years of attending boarding school, Terje still doesn't feel ready to begin his adult life. A series of confrontations with one of the boys on the rugby team leads him to discover that besides their shared heritage, they have one more thing in common. Suddenly, Terje's future taking over the family business and proposing to his long-time girlfriend doesn't seem so certain anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes it's more fun to develop characters some more in a different story when I'm working on the same novel for a year.

Walking back from the lake after rowing practice, Terje could smell spring heavy in the air despite the morning's cold showers. It made him uneasy. Summer would follow soon after, and that meant his final months in school were upon him. The thought of purposely failing the exams just to be able to stay another year flitted through his mind. He ought to feel more ready to leave and start his adult life.

 Once he came home, things would be expected of him. His father would want to hear how his future plans related to the family business; his girlfriend Mia would likely be expecting a proposal. Terje didn't balk at taking on the responsibility for either life choice, but a niggling feeling in his gut told him his excitement was below par.  

Shouting on the rugby pitch echoed among the trees that circled the sports fields belonging to the castle grounds. Ethan looked up from their silent march, and headed for the pitch. Terje followed. There had always been something about the rough, violent game that made Terje want to try it, to pit his strength against the other boys. Unfortunately, his trouble keeping up in the lessons didn’t allow him time for more than one extracurricular activity, and he lacked the tactical mind needed for the game. Rowing was just about right for him, with someone shouting instructions while he and the other lads lend their strength to propel the boat forward.

‘Let’s see how Adam is holding up,’ Ethan suggested. His younger brother had recently joined the team.

Adam ran among the boys in red and white, following the ball with his eyes. He caught it from mid-air as two gingers who moved as one person for the space of a few heartbeats boosted him up. They tried to cover Adam when he started running, to little avail. A tackle coming from one of the opposing players in all white floored him brutally.

Terje watched with absent fascination. Mud-splattered shorts and grass-stained shirts begged the question which idiot came up with the idea to dress in white for a sport like that. The combination of shorts and knee-highs also gave off a weird Victorian child vibe that did not suit adolescent boys, much less the burly types who played rugby. Not that the rowing unisuit he currently wore was much more charming.

The ball passed to another player in white, who ran with it, pursued by the tallest of the gingers. A reckless lunge sent them both tumbling, and landed them at the bottom of a pile of bodies. The sound of a whistle dissolved the tangle of limbs; the coach called for a scrum.

The ginger boys flanked their team captain, locking arms. They pushed against the opposite team, shoulder to shoulder, leg muscles straining and feet scrabbling for purchase. The team captain hooked a foot around the ball, kicking it back for someone to pick up.

While Ethan shouted encouragements at his younger brother, Terje followed the biggest ginger with his eyes when he pushed himself up from his arse-up position on the field, and started in pursuit of an opponent. He constantly seemed to be at the centre of pile-ups with his relentless and aggressive playing style.

The coach eventually came over to send Ethan and Terje back into the castle on account of Ethan’s loud, unsolicited commentary from the side lines. They turned away from the field with reluctance to fill the rest of the afternoon with studying. Terje also had an unanswered letter from Mia lying around waiting for a reply.

The letters they sent back and forth during the semesters he spent living in a dorm at school were supposed to make up for lost time between the holidays. Terje looked forward to seeing her again. She was his best friend, and he trusted her with everything that crossed his mind. Mia really was a joy to be around, cheerful and fun-loving in a way that lit up the room. He made a mental note of that thought. It would be a good thing to say when he asked her to marry him. Less generic than just calling her beautiful and sweet, like one did.

The other boys in their dorm came and went during the afternoon. They left him well alone when he made homework, but he couldn't escape the teasing when he got out Mia's letter and penned a lengthy reply. As usual, he responded to the taunts from a position of superiority. None of the other boys had ever been in committed relationships like his and Mia's. After putting a stamp and the address on an envelope, he pocketed the letter and made the trip to get it sent off.

He nearly missed the start of dinner, sauntering back lost in thought, but made it in the nick of time. He plopped down in the first available spot, though none of his friends were anywhere in sight. On the other side of the table, the rugby team sat down.

Though the school was teeming with ginger boys this far north, Terje recognised the two-man wolf pack that sat directly opposite them. Terje covertly studied them as he ate. The one on the left was young, fourteen or fifteen, but had sharp eyes that missed nothing of what went on around him. The one on the right was older, but his age was harder to pin down. His arms filled out the sleeves of his shirt as if he was past due to go a size up. He didn't bother to wear the uniform's emblazoned jacket, and his tie hung like a stole around his neck.

When he looked up from his food, he shot Terje a wary frown. Terje only noticed at second glance that an ugly scar marred his upper lip, pulling at it so he seemed to sneer. It ruined an otherwise good face, and made him look a bit daft.

'Shame,' Terje murmured to himself.

'What?' Scarface sounded hostile, and it pushed Terje's buttons to get attitude from a younger student.

'Your face.'

'What’s my face to you? Were you planning to look at it often in the future?'

'Please. It's bad enough that I have to look at it over dinner,' Terje snapped back without thinking, too used to vying for dominance with anyone and everyone to deescalate.

‘Frode, stop chirping and do up your damn tie before you lose us House points again,’ said Luke the team captain.

Frode let his younger brother knot the tie around his neck with a stony face.

'Neither creativity, nor intelligence... nor friends,' the younger brother said, assessing Terje with cold calculation. 'We can take him.'

'Yeah, but it's not worth it, Jens.'

They went on talking as if Terje was no longer there, or so far beneath their notice they needed to pay him no more heed. They switched to another language entirely halfway through the conversation.

Among the din of voices, Terje had trouble making out what they said, but gradually he started picking up snippets of Norwegian. He hadn’t heard it spoken since his grandfather passed.

'…scar is like an cunt-detector,' Jens said. 'It immediately betrays anyone lacking in manners and good intentions.'

Ginger Scarface barely smiled, but he briefly laid a hand on his brother's back. 'Be glad you can find out the normal way. From that point of view, everyone I meet is a cunt.'

‘Frode, Jens,’ Luke warned tiredly. ‘Keep it central.’

'Ugh. I'm about to explode,' Jens said in English, pushing his plate away.

His brother continued until he cleared his plate, then started on Jens' leftovers. He didn't directly meet Terje's eyes again, though Jens did. Jens' gaze warned Terje to watch his back.

A sixth year from Terje’s House sidled up to Frode from a nearby table.

'Hey, did you already do tomorrow's physics homework?' he asked in an overly friendly tone.

Frode stared his classmate down with cold disdain. 'I'm not in the business of giving people free rides through school.'

'You _should_ start a business,' Jens said when the classmate slunk away. 'Cash in on their bad planning.'

'If any of these fuckers were friendly outside of needing my help, I wouldn't even mind.'

'I hate the culture of this place,' Jens agreed. 'It's a viper's den.'

'Good thing you're a serpent in your own right,' Frode joked softly. 'You'll make it.'

They rose without acknowledging anyone at the table. If Terje hadn't been staring at Frode’s back, he would've missed the look Frode sent over his shoulder when they exited the hall. It wasn't angry, or threatening, just... disappointed.

It haunted Terje the rest of the evening.

 

 

* * *

 

A dishevelled figure squeezed himself between the boys having an early breakfast before class on the other side of the long table. Terje glanced up in time to see a bloodied nose and a beginning bruise before wet, unkempt red bangs obscured the sight from view. Frode. Something akin to guilt still clawed at Terje’s insides, even though it had been about a week since their confrontation over dinner. He wasted a disproportionate amount of time dwelling on the incident, and couldn't quite figure out why it bothered him when he said worse to people before.

Frode might not even remember. If what he said to his little brother was true, Terje did not expect he stood out. 

'Isn't it a bit early for brawling?' he heard himself say.

Frode looked up with a spoon in his mouth. Recognition flashed in his eyes, but he gave no response, and continued to eat his porridge.

Terje studied his translucent copper eyelashes, and the faint smear of mud across a smattering of freckles.

'Sorry about the other day.'

Frode's spoon hovered above his bowl, but he neither looked at Terje nor acknowledged his words.

'I shouldn't have said that.'

'Whether you say it or just think it doesn't make a whole lot of difference,’ came Frode’s raspy voice. ‘What do you want?'

'To apologise.'

'Maths, Chemistry?'

'No, I don't- There wasn't a reason for me to be a dick to you, and I'm sorry.'

Frode lifted his gaze with a grave expression, and gave the barest of nods. He said nothing else.

'So who have you been fighting?'

'I got someone's foot in my face during training,' Frode mumbled.

'You guys always train this early?'

Frode shrugged into his too tight blazer. 'There'll be a match next week. Got to stay on top of it.' 

'Against…?'

'Ashewood's coming over to get their arses kicked.'

Frode finished knotting his tie, and made to get up.

'Hang on, you've got dirt on your nose.'

'They're called freckles,' Frode said tiredly.

'No you've got actual mud... I can tell the difference.' Terje vaguely indicated his own freckles, then reached across the table.

Frode caught his wrist in a firm grip, sending a jolt of adrenalin straight to Terje's gut.

'I'll find a mirror,' he said in a warning tone that made Terje's aggression spike again.

Terje wasn't a prefect or anything, but no one below the eighth year spoke to him like that. He followed Frode on his heels as he exited the hall, torn between wanting to show him who was boss and strangely, wanting to befriend him. There was no reason for the latter; he didn't know Frode's family or whether they had ties, nor did he see any other networking benefits in hitting it off with someone who wasn't even in his House.

He trailed Frode to the nearest bathroom. 'Which House do you belong to?'

'Harrow, why?'

'Just making conversation. Your brother, too?'

'No, he's in Allerdale.' Frode said it with a bitter twist to his mouth.

He scrubbed at his nose in the mirror while Terje feigned the need to wash his hands after eating.

'That's odd. My entire family got allocated to Mallory for the past two generations.'

'Riveting.'

'Name’s Hansen, by the way. Terje Hansen.'

'Well, I’ve got to go to class, Hansen.' Frode pushed past him towards the exit.

'What's yours?'

'Stedjeberg, if you must know.' Frode slung a leather bag over his shoulder, and disappeared.

Terje ran a hand over his short hair in the mirror and checked his teeth, idly wondering why the Stedjeberg brothers were not in the same House.

Wandering the halls to his dorm after his classes, a scuffle in a side corridor halted Terje in his tracks.

'Not so keen to talk shit when your big brother isn't around to guard your back, eh?'

'Let's put that punk in his place.'

A trio of Langton third years cornered Jens, shoving him around in turns. Jens was a tough kid, but he seemed to be guarding something in his bag that he wasn't willing to risk by starting a fight. Terje wouldn't normally step in, but rather send a Mallory prefect or a teacher their way to deduct House points from both parties. He wasn't certain why he grabbed the closest Langton by the scruff of his neck and tossed him a ways backwards.

'You have ten seconds to shove off before I start throwing punches,' Terje growled. 'Ten... Nine... Eight-'

Jens righted his blazer with a suspicious look at Terje when the Langtons disappeared around a corner. 

'I hope you're not expecting gratitude after what you said to my brother.'

'I apologised to your brother.'

'And you helped me... why?'

'I heard you guys are defending our honour against Ashewood next week.'

'Not me. Coach benched me,' Jens griped.

'Well… I could call them back if you were looking for trouble.'

'No, this is fine,' Jens said, gathering an air of dignity about him. 'Keep it up.'

Terje grabbed hold of his shoulder for a second. 'See you around, then.'

'Bye. Weirdo,' Jens muttered.

Early dinner left Terje at a loss for something to do. He ensconced himself in his dorm, opening a textbook on his pillow. Studying wasn't his forte. He got distracted easily, and couldn't stop his mind from wandering aimlessly while he stared at blocks of text or formulas. The hours passed quickly, but it wasn't a very efficient way of holding onto knowledge. He became very aware of the way his front pressed into the mattress, physical sensation finally overriding visual input from the books. Twisting his hips away from the mattress, Terje slid a hand into his trousers with half an eye on the book. He preferred staring at something boring to keep his mind blank, not trusting it not to serve up the weird images that left him feeling tainted lately. Before he could get even close to finishing, the arrival of his dorm mates forced him to stop. He expelled a quiet, regretful breath for not thinking to jack off sooner.

Ethan and Michael resumed their own studies until past dark.

'Any volunteers to patrol the halls with me?' Ethan asked. 'Michael, come on.'

'No, you're on your own, Mr. Prefect.'

'Terje? Do me a solid, man, it'll be twice as fast when I have help.'

Terje groaned at the idea of having to get out of bed, but that prospect was unavoidable anyway, unless he planned to sleep in his uniform. 'Fine.'

He followed Ethan out of the dorm, and helped him check side passages and deserted corridors for students out of bounds.

'Wouldn't it be easier if prefects just did a head count in the dormitories?' Terje suggested.

'Maybe, but we can take turns doing this. Now I only have to bother once every four nights.'

'Good point.'

Ethan found a small group of Mallory fifth years sharing late night snacks on an empty staircase, and sent them off with a gentle reminder. The Langton corridor was quiet, everyone seemingly in the dorm, and though a racket filtered through the door of the Harrow common room, there were no troublemakers out. Ethan sent Terje up one of the staircases leading to the Allerdale dorms. He took the other to approach from the other end of the corridor and catch any stragglers.

Low voices had Terje stepping silently, so as not to startle the speakers - and to eavesdrop.

Two familiar figures lingered in the vaulted hall; Jens lounging against a pillar, and Frode leaning close, steadying himself with one hand on the bricks.

'... too young,' Frode spoke. 'It's going to get violent, and he doesn't want anyone under sixteen in that match.'

'Do you think I'm too young, Frode?'

Jens said his name differently than the other students, not Froh-de but Froohde, a drawn-out emphasis on the first syllable.

'I don't want to see you injured either. I trust you, and you're strong, but there's a very real risk.'

'I'm bummed, though.'

'Understandably so. Just go to sleep, ok? Dwelling on it doesn't help.'

'Yeah. Goodnight.'

Jens tilted his face up for a kiss. Frode briefly closed the distance.

'You two again?' came Ethan's voice from their other side.

Frode murmured to Jens, turning away: 'Elsker deg. Sov godt.'

'I told you I'd start deducting House points if I caught you out after hours again,' Ethan called at Frode's back.

Terje stopped Frode when he tried to pass without acknowledging Ethan, and received a withering glare.

'Oi, Ethan, give them a break,' Terje said. 'It's not right that they're splitting brothers up, is it? Imagine they put Adam in Langton and you could barely hang out after class.'

'That'd suck,' Ethan reluctantly admitted. 'But the rules-'

'Why don't you make sure Jens goes inside, and I'll take Frode to his dorm.' Terje sent Ethan a compelling look. 'They were just talking. No harm in that.'

Terje escorted Frode down the staircase when Ethan assented. Frode didn't say a word, though his breathing sounded forced, and washed-out colour darkened his face in the light from the high windows. Halting a few paces from the common room, Terje gestured for Frode to step inside. Frode's gaze darted down the corridor in the direction they came. It made Terje acutely miss Lars, and Anita and Silje. He resolved to write his older siblings a letter in the morning. 

'Go on,' he told Frode.

Frode squared his shoulders, and went inside.


	2. Chapter 2

On Saturday morning Terje dedicated himself to finishing the last essay of his school career. His mother had mentioned the possibility of putting him through university and he knew Mia liked that idea, but he found it a highly unpleasant prospect. Studying took too much out of him. He needed clearer, more immediate goals to work towards, and visible results. Not pieces of paper telling him stuff that may or may not come in handy in his distant future. As far as he was concerned, this was it.

The common room was full of noise, so Terje picked up his bag and made his way to the library. Stained glass windows transformed the light from the gloomy day outside into something more cheerful between the bookcases. It was still early enough for Terje to pick a seat wherever he wanted. A table placed conveniently between the cases with books relevant to his topic provided the ideal spot. When the rustling of his books and bag and clothes gave way to the scribble of pen on paper, snippets of conversation drifted his way from the other side of the bookshelves. It sounded like gibberish at first, but started to make sense again when Terje picked up words his grandfather would speak to him. The rest of the family barely spoke Norwegian anymore since the emigration, but grandpa Hansen long refused to speak anything else to his grandchildren in the hopes they wouldn't forget where they came from.

'You're joking.'

'At first I was, but you can see how serious I am now.'

'You shouldn't.'

'Why not?'

‘Because this is exactly why mum tries to keep us apart.'

A silence. ‘Even if it is, she can eat shit for all I care. She saw fit to send us to this place to be rid of us the year round, what does she even care? If you need this, and all the others-'

'Jens, I won’t tolerate this kind of talk.'

'The former or the latter?'

'Both,' Frode said quietly. 'Especially not in public.'

'It's not like anyone understands what we say. Besides, you-'

'Your brother is right, Jens,' Terje said haltingly. 'You never know who might be listening.'

A chair fell over on the other side of the book case. Frode rounded the corner with murder in his eyes.

'You again,' he spat in English. 'What did you hear?'

'Something about beef with your mother. I'm rusty,' Terje said calmly, turning around in his chair.

'Why didn't you tell me you're Norwegian?' Frode demanded.

'I'm not. I'm British. But my name should've been a clue. Couldn't have been more obvious unless I actually went by Torgeir.'

Grandpa Hansen was the only one who called him by his full name as if it wasn’t impossible to pronounce properly. His father only did when Terje was in trouble, which was rarely.

Jens peeked around the corner of the bookcase too, face pale and a little worried.

'Your mother a force to be reckoned with?' Terje asked.

Jens took a breath, and nodded. 'She always thinks she knows best, and she always wants to get her way.'

'For good reason, usually.'

Jens walked over, composing himself. 'What are you up to?'

Terje held up a book. 'Hopefully my last paper ever. English lit.'

Frode turned his back and retreated to their alcove.

Jens sat on Terje's desk, long legs dangling mere inches off the floor. He idly righted the cuffs of the button down he wore underneath a spencer. 'Will you come watch the match?'  

'Sure,' Terje said.

He went back to studying, and assumed Jens and Frode did the same on the other side of the book case. The students that trickled in and filled the library over the course of the morning left around lunch time. Terje wasn't particularly hungry, and used the quiet time to polish his essay. The need for last minute fact-checking sent him over to the opposite end of the library. When he returned to his alcove, murmured Norwegian made him glance over and listen in again, in passing.

'All I was saying earlier... I could do it for you.' Jens leaned in from his standing position to where Frode was seated, facing the window. He idly scratched through the longish hair at the base of Frode’s skull.

'Jens,' Frode admonished. 'Not here. And no. You're-'

'If you say 'too young', so help me-'

Frode sighed. 'Why would you? You shouldn't even be thinking about it.'

'I know you've been thinking about it. You need it.'

'No, I don't.' Frode's posture, tense like a coiled spring, gave lie to his words, even seen from the back.

Terje found himself staring at his book with unseeing eyes when he sat back down. What exactly did the Stedjeberg brothers get up to that warranted separation? They didn’t have a reputation for trouble. If they did anything worse than sneak out after hours to talk, they buried it deep. Terje knew drugs were a problem for some students, with cocaine use running rampant throughout the school. The younger Stedjeberg definitely shouldn't be thinking about that yet, and they seemed neither exorbitantly rich, nor careless about their  education. Frode, however, did have that look about him, feverish, something broiling below his barely civil exterior. Perhaps Frode used, and Jens procured it for him because Frode was at odds with everyone else.

Jens eventually left Frode when invited to play chess with classmates in the Allerdale common room, be it reluctantly. Frode urged him to go and remained behind, thinking no one heard him sigh over his coursework.

With his essay finished, Terje put the books he'd grabbed back. He hesitated to enter the alcove Frode still occupied.

'Just putting this back,' he said, not wanting to give him cause for more hostility.

Frode twisted in his seat to look at him. His expression had a raw quality about it and allowed his highly-strung state to show for a second.

'Brother seems like a smart kid,' Terje tried. 'Too smart for his own good, probably.'

'Why do we keep running into you? I’ve never seen you before in six years in this place,' Frode bit out. 'What's with the sudden meddling?'

Terje held up his hands in a defensive gesture. 'I'll give you guys a wide berth next time if you insist on it.'

Frode stared him down, and eventually sat back in his chair.

'Jens could stand to have another pair of eyes watch his back, I guess,' Frode muttered. 'I can't be everywhere at once.'

'I'd say he'll be alright, but then I don't know how much my older brother worried about me.'

Frode stretched and cracked his back, straining the seams of his shirt to their limits. It rode up to his waist, revealing downy red hair climbing up from the edge of his white underwear across eerily white skin. Frode redefined the fragility Terje associated with ginger hair with his blocky abs and square jaw. He was willing to bet they were a close match in sheer mass.

'Yeah, who knows,' Frode said flatly. He didn't give a damn whether Terje related to him.

Terje regarded Frode, framed by papers filled with equations, slouching, with his legs falling open in tired defeat. Terje couldn't think of anything to say. Leaving the library was the sensible option.

Leftover tension from the day subconsciously carried over during the night. He either slept too deeply or not deep enough, and woke up to clinging images of an assortment of dreams in the pre-dawn dark. The foggy memory of forcefully spreading thick thighs under his hands had him on the edge as soon as he became remotely conscious. When he examined it, a wave of barely contained arousal pulsed through him, pushing precum out to pool in the dip of his pelvis. Blocking out the breathing of his dorm mates, he stroked himself, picturing the kind of butt that would belong to legs like that. He barely managed to suppress his own breathing when his come spurted on the shirt he wore to bed. As soon as his heart rate went back down, he took off the clammy shirt and wiped himself clean. Wadding it up underneath his pillow, he rolled over.

In the morning only a weird feeling without images remained, which left him wondering exactly what it was he'd gotten so worked up about.

 

* * *

 

 

The day of the rugby match dawned grey and wet. The chill pervading the dormitory prevented Terje from getting out of bed until the very last minute. Standing in the doorway opening up on the grounds, he buttoned his coat up against the drizzle with a sigh. Jens made him promise he'd show up again the day before. He couldn't bail now. Ethan gave him a nudge in passing.

'Let's go.'

They found seats high up on the stands lining the pitch on one side. Terje resigned himself to damp trousers as he sat down and glanced at the field, where the opposing teams were already lining up. Jens spotted him from where he stood behind their coach. He gave Terje a wave. Terje raised his hand in greeting.

'What's with you and those weird brothers?' Ethan asked.

Terje shrugged. 'Shared heritage.'

'Which is?'

'Norway, apparently.'

Ethan did a terrible imitation of what he thought Norwegian sounded like, consonants interjected with drawn out ø-sounds. Terje snorted, and directed his attention to the game.

The Ashewood team kicked off, sending the Laidlaw Castle players scrambling to catch the ball. They lifted one of their players to successfully intercept its trajectory, but were fairly immediately bowled over by a rough tackle from multiple Ashewood players. The ball flew back in the opposite direction, but the Ashewood player who jumped up and caught it was stopped dead in his tracks by someone bodily slamming into him. Frode, his hair tied back with a narrow band around his head, dragged him down by the waist. Three more Ashewood players threw themselves into the resulting struggle for the ball, turning the game into a stationary, five-man wrestling match. From somewhere in the tangle of limbs the ball emerged, which Adam picked up and ran with.

Terje watched Frode shove the last player off him so he could get up. He tore across the field at a sprint to re-join the action that took the Laidlaw team tantalisingly close to the goal with a series of strategic passes. Ashewood took the runner down metres from the goal line, piling on him as if their lives depended on it. The Laidlaw captain extracted the ball, passing it to Frode, who got taken down the second his hands closed around it. Transfixed by the sight of the brawny Ashewood player pinning Frode facedown to the grass with his entire body, Terje experienced a shock to his system.

The source of his shallow breathing went a bit beyond enthusiasm about the game. He couldn't unsee the way the Ashewood player limited Frode's movements, though his muscular legs worked to push their combined weight up, nor the way the opponent’s crotch pressed against Frode's arse.

From that point on, all Terje registered were the hands on Frode's body; the way one of his teammates grabbed hold of his hips to back up his strength when forming an improvised shield over one of their grounded players, and how an opponent’s face ended up in his lap when they were unbalanced by rough shoves.

Tearing his eyes away from the game, Terje unclenched the hand gripping his upper leg just above the knee and took a steadying breath. The flood of raw emotion mixing with a very physical arousal made his head spin. He shouldn't be feeling this sort of thing for anyone except Mia. Terje had long thought he'd grow into the all-consuming passion other men described feeling for women. Now it became all too clear that for him, his aesthetic appreciation of Mia's beauty evoked nothing of the sort, nothing like the hard lines of Frode's face did, or the swell of his straining biceps when he lifted teammates.

Terje felt sick, sick with desire and sick with jealousy that he wasn't the one with hands seeking purchase on Frode's inner thighs, or feeling Frode’s weight on top of him, or grinding him into the grass. He also knew he'd be feeling sick with guilt over these thoughts later, but in the moment, there was nothing he could do to stem the tide. 

Minutes from the end of the first half of the match, Terje was ready to walk away from the stands. He half-rose when a Laidlaw player threw the ball into the field from the side-lines, and the Ashewood captain inadvertedly tugged the leg of Frode's damp, white shorts up while restraining him from behind, baring the taut muscle of his leg up to his groin.

'Alright, mate?' Ethan asked with a sideways glance.

'I'm going to head back inside.'

'No, you need to stay. I’m going to need your help later. We might need to fight Ashewood, depending on the outcome.' Ethan cracked his knuckles.

Even though Terje couldn’t say what the current score was, it was all the convincing his weak will needed to stay and watch. Every time his body responded to what he saw, he was in hell. He didn't recall ever feeling like this before, let alone being confronted with this deviant part of himself for such a prolonged period of time, unable to repress it.

The match ended in victory for Laidlaw Castle, ending his torture in all but name. Beside him, Ethan got up to cheer and roar abuse at the Ashewood supporters in the stands. Terje shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat before he stood. The last sight he'd been treated to was Frode on his back in the grass, unable to get up for a second after a forceful tackle, and he couldn't help but picture him in bed like that, boneless, with his head thrown back to expose the thick column of his throat.

After the final whistle sounded, Terje's eyes remained glued to Frode, who finally allowed his soreness and exhaustion to show after his coach clapped him on the back.

'Hey Terje, are you coming?' Ethan joined up with a group of eighth years intent on celebrating the victory.

Terje stared at him dumbly for a second, then declined his invitation in favour of a walk in the woods to clear his head. 

Away from the field, his thoughts calmed down enough to begin to rationalise his feelings. So what if he thought of a guy in that way _once_? He was nineteen, it was normal to want to have sex. Spending most his life in boys' schools, it made sense that he considered the only available option. It had been months since he laid eyes on a woman, and it would be weeks yet before he saw Mia again. As long as he kept this to himself, it changed nothing.

When he made his way back past the deserted rugby pitch one of the two figures sitting in the stands waved him over. Jens.

'Heisann,' Jens called enthusiastically. 

'Hallo.'

'Where'd you just come from?'

'Took a walk around the grounds,' Terje said, studiously avoiding their eyes.

'Frode likes to do that, too,' Jens provided. 'Right, Frode?'

Terje couldn't stop himself from stealing a glance. Frode gave the barest nod. Terje hated the way Frode's orange freckles made his blue eyes stand out. It made his stare so forceful Terje was half-afraid he could read minds.

'Good game,' Terje said, his voice rough.

Frode looked pleased without actually smiling. He huddled in his jacket against the chill of the damp April afternoon, his hair wet from a recent shower.

Terje couldn’t really afford to be thinking about Frode showering right now. 'I’ve got to go. Have a nice day.’

 


	3. Chapter 3

Terje's resolution to stay away from the Stedjeberg brothers to avoid exposure to his attraction to Frode was only once thwarted by a chance meeting at the library on Wednesday the next week. Seeing Jens' freckled face, or any ginger head in the corridors, really, made his interest flare up by association, but not interacting with Frode gave Terje a sense of control over the situation. As long as he didn't tempt himself, this could be managed. He'd be out of school in a matter of weeks, and then he could forget about Frode.

Even the feeling that he didn't _want_ to forget about Frode would have to quiet down eventually. He’d have no life back home if he turned out to be a queer. This couldn’t be happening to him.

Part of him knew he was setting himself up for trouble when he agreed to accompany Ethan on his late rounds patrolling the halls again during the weekend. Though he did his best not to think about his ulterior motives, the idea of getting Frode to himself in a deserted hallway for a minute was likely the reason he volunteered. Walking side by side in the dim silence their hands could brush on accident. There was opportunity to say something. If Frode and Jens were hanging out somewhere they weren't supposed to again he could warn them before Ethan got there. Show his good intentions.

When Ethan asked, Terje readily agreed to sweep the Allerdale corridor, though he did more creeping than sweeping once he made it up the stairs. It rewarded him with the lilt of Norwegian coming from a windowed niche.

'Maybe you were right,' Jens said in a small voice. 'I'm sorry, but I just don't know where I'm at anymore-'

'Hey, don't break your head. I told you I don't need you to.'

'Yeah, but I feel like I should go through with it now?'

'Jens, listen to me. I’m glad you changed your mind. I’ve been trying to change your mind for weeks. Forget about it.’

‘I don’t want to disappoint you after everything you do for me.’

‘You don’t. You’ll never disappoint me. Now go, before a prefect shows up or something.'

'I don't want to leave you like this.'

A deep breath followed. 'Go on. It's no big deal. I love you.'

Terje waited until he heard the door of the Allerdale common room. He needed a while to muster the courage before walking past the niche and pretend to be rounding up any students out of bounds. He stepped quietly, rounding the corner of the wall. Frode sat in the stone windowsill with one leg drawn up to his chest, his head resting against the window panes and frustration rolling off him in waves.

He looked up sharply when Terje drew to a halt parallel with him, and swore.

‘Are you getting paid by my mother to spy on us or something?’

‘There’s a Mallory prefect in the corridor below. Take the southern staircase.’

‘Isn’t that Mallory prefect your friend? How do I know you’re not trying to fuck me?’

Terje’s heartbeat skyrocketed for a moment before he realised Frode meant a betrayal rather than actual sex. ‘If I wanted to I’d just call him over, wouldn’t I? You want me to?’

‘Why are you even here up in my fucking business again?’

‘I don’t give a shit about your business, Stedjeberg. I’m just helping out a mate. Jens seems like an alright kid so I thought I’d save you some trouble, but do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care whether you’re doing drugs or your brother needs a goodnight kiss to be able to sleep. I’m going to leave this place far behind in a couple of weeks and then you’ve got to keep it liveable for yourselves anyway.’

He glanced through the deserted corridor and sauntered back the way he came. Footsteps eventually caught up.

‘Is it really just because you think Jens is alright?’ Frode asked as they descended the staircase.

Terje shrugged. ‘For all I know you might be, too, but yeah.’

‘I’m not doing a good job of being likeable, am I?’

‘I dunno. I like you just fine. Maybe back in Norway we would’ve been friends already.’    

Somewhere down the corridor, a door opened. ‘Who’s there?’ the scratchy voice of the janitor called.

Terje stood rooted to the spot in sudden fright. With Ethan nowhere to be found, he had no excuse to be outside the dorm. He’d never had to think of any, either. He’d always followed the rules to the letter.

Frode noiselessly drew him into a dark hiding place under the staircase. Terje ducked his head, praying their navy uniforms would blend into the shadows.

The janitor shuffled past, lighting his way with a big flashlight. Terje held his breath with his heart pounding in his throat. In the dead silence, he felt Frode pressed against his side in the confined space. Terje didn’t know what worried him more: Frode’s proximity or the beam of light about to pass over them any moment now.  

The light came and went, lighting up their clothes and Frode’s flaming hair. Incredibly, the janitor didn’t notice their presence. Terje could feel Frode shake with laughter against his side.

‘What is it?’ he whispered when the footsteps faded away.

‘I don’t think that man realises how bad his cataract has actually gotten.’  

On the heels of their narrow escape, Terje wanted to express his relief to Frode in some way. What came out was: ‘I like your laugh.’

‘Huh?’ said Frode.

‘I just realised I never saw you so much as smile before, and-’

He still hadn’t, by grace of the windowless hall, but it sounded wonderful; low, quiet, conspiratorial.

‘Forget it, that came out weird. I’m not trying to be weird. Sorry.’

He stepped out into the corridor and motioned for Frode to hurry on to the Harrow dorm.

Frode said nothing else, but in the light spilling out of the door he granted Terje a brief smile with one half of his mouth. Terje thought about it until he fell asleep. 

 

***

 

Terje was about to peel off his unisuit after a muggy afternoon of solo rowing when the entire rugby team flooded the previously quiet locker room. They brought the scent of blood, sweat and mud with them, and tracked a combination of all three inside, staining the floors reddish-brown. Spotting two familiar faces in the crowd, Terje reconsidered taking a shower here. For the first time in forever, he felt self-conscious.

‘Hey Terje.’

‘What’s up, Terje?’

Frode and Jens took up the spaces flanking Terje that the other boys left open out of respect for his personal space. They stripped off with tired, worn-out movements. When Jens got stuck in his jersey claiming he couldn’t move his arms, Frode stepped in to pull it up and out of the way.

‘Nothing much, just getting cleaned up before the padding of this infernal thing gets permanently stuck to my arse.’

Frode and Jens looked to see if it would when Terje shrugged the straps of his unisuit off his shoulders. Terje wasn’t a blusher, but he felt damn awkward with their eyes on his butt. He should’ve kept his idiot mouth shut.    

Shimmying out of the offending garment he quickly hit the showers. The Stedjeberg brothers eventually added their voices to the echoing din, but Terje figured he’d be alright as long as he didn’t turn around and actually look at Frode. Without the visual, his mild anxiety was enough to prevent him from getting hard at the thought of Frode naked a couple of feet away. After a quick rinse he ceded his spot under the spray to a rugby player, but however sternly he told himself not to glance in Frode’s direction he still ended up getting and eyeful of soap suds gliding down glistening skin. The dense freckles on Frode’s shoulders and arms lessened the contrast between his longish hair and the near-translucent skin on his torso somewhat, and Terje thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Without missing a beat in his conversation with Jens, Frode met Terje’s eyes in a fleeting sideways glance that nearly stopped Terje’s heart on the spot. Terje wasted no time getting dressed and leaving the locker room after that.

With unease brewing inside him as he listened to his dorm mates’ fantasies about all the girls they were going to get this summer, Terje eventually exchanged his bed for the library to study for his finals. There wasn’t much damage he could do to his averages anymore, but his grades weren’t anything to be particularly proud of.

After an hour of blankly staring at a textbook in a niche, he got up to stretch his legs and clear his mind. Dusk muted the stained glass windows, but lamps glowed warmly overhead. Seated in a niche at the very back of the quiet library, he spotted Frode. Terje couldn’t help himself. He approached quietly.

Frode sat twirling a small paper envelope between his fingers, staring at it while his work lay abandoned. Terje had seen those envelopes before.

‘Don’t do it,’ he said.

Frode heaved a great sigh, and made the little envelope disappear.

‘The opposing team’s going to be doing it.’

‘I imagine that’s frustrating. But doesn’t it taint your victory if you have to lower yourself like that?’

‘I don’t want to disappoint my teammates by getting left so far behind.’

‘What benefits does it even have?’

‘You get more confident, fatigue less easily.’

‘For a while,’ Terje amended. ‘It still taps into your body’s resources. You don’t get superhuman strength out of nowhere, and you’ll have to recover twice as long.’

‘I don’t want to disappoint…’

‘Have you tried other things? My mates on the rowing team are always going on about boosting testosterone in any way they can.’

‘Like, how?’ Frode asked dully.

‘Sleeping lots, eating better, having more sex…’

Frode snorted. ‘As if that’s a likely option. Who are they even having sex with in here?’

‘I dunno, each other?’ Terje joked.

Frode let out a quiet laugh.

‘I don’t think you need any of it,’ Terje said. ‘You’re in great form. You carried that last game.’  

‘Nice of you to say.’

Terje thought he saw the hint of a smile from where he was standing, though Frode hadn’t so much as  looked up during the entire exchange.

Terje squeezed his shoulder, which was as much as he dared under the circumstances, and walked back to his own books.

After a while he heard the librarian get up and speak to Frode. ‘I’m going for a quick coffee break. Keep an eye on things for me, won’t you, Stedjeberg?’

‘Of course, Mr. Griffin.’

As steps faded in the hallway outside, Terje picked up on a second set coming towards him. He looked up from his book when Frode found his way to Terje’s niche. Frode glanced through the deserted library once, then levelled a pointed, questioning look at Terje. Unsure what he wanted but curious, Terje gave the barest nod.

Frode sat on the windowsill and loosened his tie before shrugging out of his blazer. He didn't say a word. Terje didn't either. His tongue was glued to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth.

As Frode unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers, it was as if someone else, someone much more daring or stupid, took control of Terje’s body. He got up and knelt in front of Frode, meeting his eyes uncertainly.

'Yeah,' Frode breathed in the silence.

He shoved his underwear out of the way. Terje ran his hands up Frode’s thighs, barely able to keep from digging his fingers in and squeezing to keep them steady. He glanced at Frode's cock, lying hard against his abdomen. The blood visibly pumped through it, and it twitched when Frode leaned back against the window. Frode waited with bated breath, and, gripping the base, offered it to Terje. Completely inexperienced in sex of any kind, Terje knew just enough to put his mouth around the tip. The skin tasted tangy, salty, but before he could examine it, Frode pushed deeper into his mouth. Terje gagged a little. Frode wouldn't let him pull off, holding his head close with both hands. Led more by what Frode's hands indicated than any proper idea how to go about it, Terje let it happen. He slid a hand up Frode's torso under his shirt and felt him up while cock filled his mouth over and over in an entrancing rhythm. The points of contact between their bodies seemed to burn, like the swelling of his own prick in pants that barely accommodated it in his kneeling position. 

Frode's voice sounded higher than normal when sound slipped out. He couldn't seem to keep his hips still any longer even though Terje braced against him with both hands, gripping tight. A drawn-out moan of release caused a flash of inner panic in Terje, who sat frozen as he let Frode coat the inside of his mouth with semen.

At a loss what to do next, he pulled off and looked up with wide eyes.

Frode held him by the jaw. 'Swallow it.'

'Like hell,' Terje said thickly.

He fished a handkerchief from his pockets and spat in it twice in an attempt to get rid of the cloying substance.

Frode pulled his underwear back up over his still hard cock when Terje got to his feet. Pressing him back against the window with his body aching for his own release, Terje tried to get a hand down the back of Frode’s trousers.  

'Let me fuck you.’

'No. Not here.'

'Where?' Terje asked, kneading the hard muscle of Frode’s butt with a hand.

'I dunno. Not gonna happen tonight, in any case.'

Frode turned his head away the first time Terje tried to kiss him, so Terje grabbed his jaw and forced him.

‘You got a problem with this?’ he asked between kisses when Frode’s resistance didn’t let up.

‘Hush.’

Footsteps could be heard in the hall when the rustle of their clothing settled down.

‘Shit,’ Frode whispered. ‘Griffin.’

He scrambled to put his blazer back on. Terje quickly sat back down in his chair, scooting forward to hide the hard on that strained against the fabric of his pants. It throbbed in time with the violent beating of his heart. Frode walked out of the niche pretending to absently browse a book he picked up.

Terje sat around for ten more minutes, waiting for his arousal to fade in vain. When he could take it no longer, he shouldered his bag and left. He made it halfway down the hall to the nearest bathroom when Frode caught up at a run.

‘Hansen!’ 

Terje spun around.

‘Where are you off to?’

‘…The bathroom.’

‘Good idea.’

Frode followed him in, and looked at Terje expectantly when he tried to close the cubicle door behind himself.

Terje opened the door a little wider to let him in. Frode didn’t seem to experience any of the embarrassment or hesitation that Terje felt in the library, reaching into Terje’s underwear to jerk him off. His own need already satisfied, he set about it with open curiosity. Terje tangled a hand in his red hair to pull him close and at the same time be free of that electric blue stare. Kissing him again worked only briefly to distract him from his building arousal. When Frode’s mouth opened for him and he felt their tongues slide against each other, his twitching cock leaked clear precum over Frode’s fingers.

Frode pulled away to look, and stopped, holding his glistening hand up to the sparse light. ‘Huh?’

‘It just does that. Keep going,’ Terje pleaded.

The unfamiliar touch kept him on his toes until the last stroke. It was quick and messy, and he couldn’t help but kiss Frode an ungodly amount of times even though he wasn’t sure that was part of the arrangement.

‘Was this your plan all along?’ Frode wondered when he wiped his hand and the stains on his uniform with some tissue paper.

‘My plan was to avoid all this, but it was a stupid plan, in hindsight.’ Terje pressed lips to Frode’s slightly sticky neck. 'Are we doing this again?'

Frode thought for a moment. 'There's no training on Sunday morning. Eight? Locker room?'

'Meet you there.'


	4. Chapter 4

Despite barely catching any sleep on Saturday night, Terje arrived early to the wing of the building that hosted the indoor sports halls and locker rooms. Agonising over the letter he'd received from Mia did not actually make a dent in the restless anticipation of meeting Frode for another hook-up – nor did the warring shame and delight over what had happened nights earlier.

Waiting near the door to the locker room gave Terje time to overthink things again. Was this cheating on Mia if he'd never exchanged more than words and thoughts with her, and the occasional chaste kiss? What did being interested in Frode this way even mean, not only for him personally, but for his relationship? Was he willing to lose his best friend over this? Could a marriage still work without feeling for Mia all the things he did feel for Frode?

Terje peered around the corner of a brick pillar, and held his breath when he saw Frode approach. He felt suddenly awkward standing there with all his conflicted feelings in broad daylight.

'Morning,' Frode said levelly, face unmoved and eyes unfathomable as Terje fell into step with him.

'Good morning.'

Terje felt a current of electricity shoot straight for his heart when the back of his fingers brushed Frode's. He wanted to say something, talk about this, define it. Did it deserve a label other than 'convenient'?

Frode opened one of the locker rooms with a key. Terje barely had time to wonder how he came by it before Frode drew him inside and locked the door behind them. He stood rooted to the ground as he watched Frode take off his clothes. Frode left his checkered button-down in his dark green knitted jumper, and pulled everything off in one go. Faded jeans were next.

'You in a hurry?' Terje joked to calm his nervous excitement when his eyes followed Frode's underwear to the floor.  

'Thought we might hit the showers.' Frode jerked his head in their direction. 'I'm gross and it's cold in here.'

'Yeah, sure.' Terje tossed his clothes on the bench lining the wall.

It took a while for the water to get warm. Frode stared at it as if he could will it to heat quicker. Terje circled his arms around Frode's waist from behind and pulled him close enough to see the angry red spots among the freckles on his back and shoulders. Terje drew his hair to the side, and pressed lips to the pale skin of his neck. Frode absently reached back to grip Terje's hip, causing an unsettling flutter in Terje's stomach. Steam slowly filled the shower. Frode extended a hand and deemed the water warm enough.

Joining him under the spray, Terje kept his body pressed against Frode's, partly out of embarrassment to put his glaring arousal on display, partly because he craved the contact like nothing else. Frode wet his face and hair, combing the waterlogged strands back with his hands. It send droplets flying into Terje's face. Terje smiled, and leaned in to kiss him, exuberant over how good it felt to be here with him, to be allowed to watch, and touch, and taste.

'So... you feel like it, now?' Terje murmured, his hands travelling to Frode's butt.

Frode looked between them, at their hard cocks trapped between their bodies. Terje's rubbed wetly against the skin of his taut abdomen.

'I guess,' he assented.

Terje kissed him with barely contained enthusiasm. He felt the hesitant touch of Frode's tongue when he delved into Frode's mouth. His fingers pressed into Frode's crack, searching...

Voices sounded through the corridor outside the locker room. Frode stiffened, and looked in the direction of the noise.

'Get out of here.'

'What about you?'

'Just go!'

'Go where?' Terje asked with rising panic.

'For fuck's sake, outside! Take that door!'

Terje ran for it, snatching up his clothes. He dripped water all over the floor on his way out. The emergency exit opened from the inside, and let him out onto the grounds at the back of the windowless outbuilding. The grass under his bare feet was as wet and cold as he was, and the sun did not yet have enough power to warm him. With no possible way to get dry except to wait around for the water to evaporate from his skin, Terje struggled into his clothes before anyone saw him running around naked. When he straightened up, the weak rays of the sun just cleared the trees enough to touch his face. He laughed softly to himself, and leaned back against the wall to take a deep breath. No one seemed to be pursuing him.

As the sun gained power, he remained to enjoy the view of mist rising and evaporating over the sports fields.

Frode silently appeared at his side five minutes later, fully dressed and fairly composed. He answered Terje's grin with an awkward smile, the scar across his philtrum pulling at his lip.

'Did anyone see you?' Terje asked.

'Yeah, I had to bullshit the coach about all the showers in the dorm being occupied. He doesn't mind members of the sports teams coming in here, I guess. The captains have keys, even. Well, Luke doesn't, at the moment.' Frode dangled the key on a string.

Terje laughed, and slung an arm around Frode's shoulders.

'You got any other ideas?' Frode asked.

'I dunno. We don't _need_ to do anything that’s going to get us expelled. D'you want to... take a walk or something? It's nice out.'

Frode glanced at the tree line, and nodded. He seemed to like the idea.

Terje's inability to form a proper sentence in Frode's presence hampered his desire to talk and to get to know everything he could about him. Talking to Mia was easier; she carried the conversation in a way that made Terje feel comfortable about contributing. Frode didn't say much, and Terje wasn't sure what they had in common. Knowing Frode was considered exceptionally smart was intimidating, and made it hard to come up with a worthy subject.

Among the trees, he took Frode's hand. 'This ok?'

Frode considered it, then squeezed back. He opened his mouth after a while. 'Yeah. It's nice to get touched in a way that doesn't leave injuries for once, know what I mean?'

He must mean rugby, Terje realised a split second before he was about to open up about the beatings he sometimes got at home. 'Yeah. There's got to be some sort of balance to it.' 

A farmer's fields marked the edge of the school grounds. Trees gave way to a meadow. The herd of lazily chewing cows stood near the fence. Terje let go of Frode's hand and approached quietly. The cows knew him, and snuffled his hand when he crouched down and scratched one of them on the forehead, beneath the horns.

'My dad has a big dairy farm,' Terje provided when he saw Frode's bemused look. 'I don't like the scale of it. This is better. Big fields. A happy-looking herd that gets to go outside all summer.'

'My parents had that in Norway. I don't remember much of it, but I think it was good place to be.' Frode crouched down with him, and tore off some long grass beyond the posts of the fence that the cows couldn't reach. He laughed when a tentative blue tongue curled around the handful.

Terje lay back in the high grass. The stalks were dry, but the earth underneath wasn't. He ignored the damp seeping into his clothes, and stuck out his arms in invitation. Frode lowered himself on top of him, laying his head on Terje’s chest. They stayed like that for a while, unhurriedly petting each other. It wasn’t what Terje had set out to do that morning, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

The need to address their unfinished business eventually made itself know, regardless. Biting his lower lip, Frode propped his upper body up with his arms, and rolled his hips against Terje's.

'I'd like to get you in a proper bed some time, away from all this.' Terje shoved a hand under the waistband of Frode's jeans.

'There's the summer break...' Frode suggested, a little out of breath.

'Yeah, let's make it happen,' Terje agreed readily, not even thinking about the consequences of bringing Frode home with him.

When he snuck back into his dorm, his back wet and dirty and his underwear sticking to his lower belly, he was met with hoots of laughter. He couldn't get out of his clothes fast enough to avoid detection.

'Look lads, Terje finally made a move on his favourite cow,' Michael called through the room. 

'Did she put up much of a fight?' Ethan asked.

'No, but she insisted on being on top,' Terje said. ‘I was so glad she finally returned my feelings that I went with it.'

He left it at that, and took a second shower.

 

 

***

 

Terje’s best efforts notwithstanding, Frode’s team lost the match like Frode had feared. After the game, Terje waited around the locker rooms until Frode reappeared.

‘Hope you’re not pissed I talked you out of taking drugs,’ Terje murmured as the door closed behind Frode. ‘Wait. You didn’t take any, did you?’

‘Nah,’ Frode said. ‘It’s like you said. It wouldn’t have given me superhuman strength. I gave it all I had regardless.’

‘And if you’d have taken it and still lost you would’ve felt stupid, likely.’

Frode said nothing.

‘It was a good game. Those guys were all eighth years and tough as hell. It’s telling that you only lost by such a small margin.’

A disgusted noise was his only answer.

‘Anything you need?’

‘For you to leave it alone. To leave me alone.’

Terje stopped in his tracks as if doused with cold water. He didn’t think Frode meant that, but I don’t want to overstep either. ‘Shall we meet up tonight or something?’

‘No,’ Frode said tiredly.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’         

Frode sighed.

‘You want a hug?’ Terje ventured in a last attempt to change his mind.

‘Go away, Hansen. Sucking my dick a couple of times doesn’t make you my boyfriend.’

Torn between saying something optimistic or something similarly unkind, Terje walked away saying nothing at all.

Back in his dorm an unanswered letter from Mia still waited for him. He supposed he’d better spend some time writing back. At least she still considered him her boyfriend.

_Dear Mia,_

_Sorry for making you wait such a long time for a reply. Things are a little hectic with finals coming up, and to be honest not much has happened. Meeting some lads that also emigrated from Norway has been the most interesting part, and they’re not even particularly amiable so that’s saying a lot._

_There’s one more rowing tournament coming up before finals, and as always I can’t really be bothered competing but the boys are counting on me so there’s no escape._

_It’s going to be such a relief to leave this place. I can’t wait to see you again so we can have a proper conversation for once and do some fun stuff together._

_Of course I’ll take a dancing course with you, that sounds like fun! Is that something that would happen over the summer or do classes start in September like usual? I’m probably going to be working for my dad all summer, but we’ll make it happen…_

It comforted Terje in a way, to know this path was still open to him whatever happened between him and Frode. Even if he ended up getting his heart broken because Frode was only in it for the effortless sex while he caught very real feelings, he’d still have someone at his side who did want to be with him. Somehow, that felt safe.

Having Mia on his mind for a while gave him the peace he needed to study the rest of the weekend. He didn’t go looking for Frode on Sunday like he intended when Frode first told him to leave him alone – he needed to put himself first with a race and finals on the horizon.  

He saw Frode again a couple of days later in passing in the hallways and forced out a casual greeting. ‘Alright, Stedjeberg?’

‘Alright,’ Frode said hesitantly with an eye on Terje’s mates.

Terje nodded and moved on. It’d be up to Frode to decide if he wanted to rekindle their previous arrangement at any point. He had no appetite for chasing unwilling partners.

Six days before the competition, Frode approached him on his way back from the lake.  

‘Heard you have a race coming up. Suppose you need me to return the favour?’

Terje stopped walking, and looked at Frode earnestly. ‘I’m not concerned about my fitness level, to be honest.’

Then why did you do it for me? I thought you’d want something in return down the line.’

Terje shrugged. ‘I did it because I wanted to. I don’t need anything from you.’

‘D’you….?’ Frode reconsidered, and did not finish his sentence, too insecure to dare entertain the notion.

‘I fancy you,’ Terje said mildly. ‘But you don’t owe me anything. Don’t worry.’

Frode walked away from him backwards, his mouth hanging open in something between surprise and disgust, then turned around and ran.

Shouldering his bag, Terje sighed and continued on his way.


	5. Chapter 5

‘You’re a liar,’ Frode hissed at him the next time he cornered Terje in a bathroom.

‘Sure,’ said Terje. ‘I love lying about being a queer for no good reason so I can get attached to someone I might never see again after I finish school.’

Angry and breathing hard, Frode glared at him. ‘I don’t buy it.’

Terje dried his hands on a paper towel. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay what?’

‘Then don’t. We’ll stop talking about it and we’ll stop interacting if it sounds so damn offensive to you.’

‘No, you don’t get it, That sort of thing just doesn’t happen. Not to someone like me.’

‘Guess again. I’m into you and had a great time messing around. You want to hear an apology for that?’

‘I want to hear what you want from me!’

‘Nothing you don’t want to give.’

‘What would you know about what I want to give?’ Frode bit at him, tense and aggressive.

‘Fuck all, Frode. Are we done?’

‘Like hell,’ Frode began, ready to launch into another incoherent accusation.

Terje figured there was only one effective way to stop this, for better or for worse. He laid a hand on Frode’s shoulder and kissed him.

Frode’s sound of protest changed into a needy moan when Terje pushed him against the nearest cubicle.

‘Now, what do you really want to know?’ Terje asked, pulling away before it could get too heated.

Frode swallowed difficultly. ‘I know I said… but-’ He took a breath. ‘You want to be…?’

Terje pulled Frode close and swept his hair back to kiss his forehead. ‘Of course.’

Together they stumbled into the cubicle. Terje locked the door behind them and pressed Frode up against it. Their loud breathing and wet kisses drowned out all the other sounds in the bathroom - until someone stopped in front of their cubicle.

Terje stilled with his hand over Frode’s hard cock and tried to be quiet. There was a rustle of clothes as the person crouched down to investigate why there were two pairs of oxford shoes visible underneath the door.

‘What the hell?’ said a confused voice on the verge of breaking.

‘Mind your own business,’ Frode growled. 

Footsteps retreated. The door of the washroom slowly fell shut.

‘Can’t believe that worked,’ Terje said after releasing his breath.

He turned Frode to face the wall, and loosened his belt and fly to rub his cock against Frode’s butt. Turning his head so Terje could keep kissing him, Frode pulled Terje’s arms tighter around himself.

‘Fuck,’ he breathed when Terje ground against him hard. ‘I want…’

‘Yeah,’ Terje whispered back, feeling his cock get harder with every time it slid up through Frode’s crack. ‘Me too.’

But with no options to find somewhere to fuck in the middle of a school day they stayed that way, letting their arousal build to unbearable levels without making a real move to finish.

The second time someone entered the bathroom Terje was so out of his mind with desire that he didn’t even stop moving until the sharp rapping on their door.

‘Open up,’ a heavy, adult voice demanded.

Terje scrambled to right his clothes with adrenalin-induced nausea stirring.

Frode simply let out a long-suffering sigh. He let Terje open the door.

Professor Dowling, head of Harrow house, regarded them critically.

‘Afternoon, sir,’ Frode said sullenly.

‘Follow me.’

Terje glanced Frode over as they trailed Professor Dowling through the corridors to his office. His cheeks were burning and his lips red and glossy, and though his hair had righted itself to its usual state, there was no mistaking what they had been up to. Terje imagined he looked similarly dishevelled. He’d avoided his reflection in the bathroom mirror on the way out. 

Professor Dowling sat them down with a grave face.

A new wave of nausea roiled through Terje’s gut, and the unreal feeling that this should never have happened to him.

‘Listen, boys. I understand that as a young man, you can’t help but feel a certain way sometimes. But this thing you’re doing is an unacceptable outlet for those urges, and one that demands punishment here at Laidlaw. I see no other choice than to write to your parents and to put you both in detention.’

‘Please, professor,’ Terje croaked, ‘don’t write to my parents. I won’t be able to go home after graduation. My father will kill me. Double the detention, anything. Just don’t tell anyone, I beg you. I’ve never put a toe out of line in eight years at this school.’

Professor Dowling regarded him with reluctant compassion. ‘I’ll take it up with your head of house to find a fitting punishment.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Terje murmured.

‘What about you, Frode?’ Dowling asked. ‘Do you wish to negotiate your punishment? Sit out a rugby match instead?’

‘No, sir. By all means, write to my mother. I accept the consequences.’    

 

 

                                                                                                                                             

* * *

 

Terje’s teammates weren’t so accepting of the punishment when it turned out that instead of having a letter sent to his parents, Terje was barred from competing in the rowing match. It wasn’t in itself much of a punishment, but dealing with the questions and the justified anger sure was.

‘What on earth did you do, man?’ Ethan pressed. ‘Even Hugh never got thrown from the team, and I’m pretty sure he lost us the most house points of anyone over the last three years.’

‘I got caught fighting,’ Terje lied through his teeth. ‘That Stedjeberg kid got on my nerves, and some little rat went running to get Dowling before we could settle it.’

‘You’re an idiot. You should’ve been the bigger person. You’re an adult, he’s a kid.’

‘I said I was sorry!’

‘That’s not good enough, Terje! You should’ve thought of us before you punched Stedjeberg’s ugly mug.’

‘Whatever, Ethan,’ Terje said, inwardly seething. Though he aimed for angry – _was_ angry on behalf of the insults to Frode - his voice broke under the strain of his emotions. It wasn’t fair that he got punished for doing something that harmed no one, just because it went against other people’s tastes. It wasn’t fair that he had to lie to his friends or risk losing them. It wasn’t fair that this secret had the power to get him hurt or killed.

He stood up from his bed, leaving it littered with books and notes, and stormed out of the dorm. Fighting back tears with all his might, he didn’t realise he was headed for the Harrow common room until he stood in front of the closed door. It was just his luck that the head of house stepped out.

‘I thought you’d understand there is to be no more contact between yourself and Mr. Stedjeberg,’ said Professor Dowling. ‘If you break the terms of our agreement I fear I’ll have to inform your parents anyway on account of your disobedience.’

‘I don’t care,’ Terje suddenly wept, to his own horror. ‘I’m going to die anyway, aren’t I?’

A slow and wasting sickness, they called it on the evening news. Men like him caught it sooner or later. They’d suffer for months and become emaciated and die. There was no cure. The medication available barely postponed their death sentence.

‘I’m going to die or I’m going to watch Frode die and people will say we had it coming. I might as well tell my dad and get it over with quickly.’

‘Mr. Hansen,’ Dowling called softly as Terje covered his eyes and walked away. ‘I understand that you’re upset, but don’t make this into something it’s not…’

Terje kept walking, through the maze of corridors and across the grounds. Just before he reached the treeline of the forest, Frode fell into step beside him.

‘What’s going on?’ he wondered, looking at Terje’s tear-streaked face. ‘Dowling said I’d better go see if you were okay.’

‘I’m afraid,’ Terje said in a shaky voice. ‘I’m afraid to go home and I’m afraid to lose you and I'm shit-scared to die of aids.’

‘Okay, first of all,’ Frode said, ‘have you ever heard of condoms – and secondly… Why don’t you come home with me and Jens?’

‘Doesn’t your father mind you’re gay?’

‘I have no father,’ Frode said with an aloof air. ‘I’m the man of the house. My mother, however, has known for a while I’m more into guys. She sent me a letter saying she was happy I found a boyfriend after she received the one Dowling sent. Shall I ask, just in case?’   

Terje’s hand found Frode’s once they were among the trees. ‘Would you do that for me? We haven’t known each other that long at all.’

Frode nodded, and squeezed his hand. ‘Even if it’s temporary, it’d still be a good time.’

‘It’d be wonderful.’

‘You want a hug?’ Frode asked with a teasing quality to his voice. He opened his arms.

‘Yeah,’ Terje said, letting the fear and tension drain from him in the comfort of Frode’s embrace. ‘Please.’

      

***

 

Terje packed his trunk efficiently, fitting everything he'd accumulated in the past semester on top of his clothes and books, and closing the lid by sheer force of will. The dormitory was quiet; his mates had gone out for their very last visit to the nearby village to commemorate the years spent at Laidlaw castle. Terje wasn't feeling it despite having completed his exams, because of what waited for him at home, and what he'd be lacking there. As it turned out, the eighth years finished two weeks ahead of the rest of the school and were supposed to await the results of their finals at home. So much for Frode’s plan to take him along.

The quiet step of well-worn Oxford shoes approached as if summoned. Terje looked up from locking the trunk to see Frode, looking lost and a little out of place with the Harrow emblem on his school uniform, trespassing in the Mallory dorms. After a quick glance around, Terje opened his arms.

'Hey... Anything you need?' he murmured into Frode's longish hair after wrapping both arms around his shoulders.

'Actually, I came to give you something.'

Frode ran his hands up and down Terje's side in that promising manner of his that had Terje's breathing coming short in seconds. He let his body do the talking most of the time, which Terje found unusual for someone with a mind like his, but understood.

Terje drew a deep breath in through his nose. 'Give me what?'

Frode picked up the heavy trunk and blocked the closed door with it in answer. When he straightened up, he loosened his tie.  

'Can I do that?' Terje reached out to undress him.

'Just don't waste too much time on it.'

Terje nodded. He stripped Frode of the uniform's dark spencer and trousers after Frode toed off his shoes, then his tie and socks, leaving him standing in just the white shirt and his underwear. Frode looked innocent like this, with his bruised skin and his freckles. Terje felt something immovable and monumental click into place, regarding him. There was no going back, after this.

He hurriedly struggled out of his own clothes, and pushed the last of Frode's to the floor.

'This one yours?' Frode nodded to Terje's four-poster.

'Yeah.' Terje's voice caught in his throat, seeing Frode get under the covers like he'd fantasised about every goddamn night in the past few weeks.

Settling between Frode's legs, with the cool, light weight of goose-down bedding on his back, Terje glanced at the door. He wouldn't even know what would happen to Frode if they got caught. Terje was out of here for good by tonight, but Frode still had two years to go.

'Hey.' Frode redirected his attention, and lifted his head to kiss him.   

He was still awkward about it, just as Terje still cursed himself for ever commenting on Frode's scarred mouth. His lips barely touched Terje's, but Terje pushed him back into the pillow with intensity of his kisses; an already overdone apology, and a show of how deep his affection ran. He raked ginger hair back, and enjoyed Frode's restless hands sliding across his bare skin. Even if they got interrupted this time, he'd still have had this; the kisses, the skin contact. The love, Terje caught himself thinking, though he wasn't sure if that was what this was, or if it was even mutual.

Frode urged his hips closer with his hands, his face open and vulnerable but determined about what he wanted. It took Terje a moment to realise he wasn't sure how to proceed.

'How do you want me to do it?' he asked under his breath.

'I was hoping you'd have _that_ part figured out,' Frode said, admitting in a shy mutter that he'd had the foresight to prepare his body before coming here.

Terje put thoughts of mounting him from behind from his mind, though it seemed natural and possibly easier.

'Like this, then,' Terje decided.  

The pressure of needing to get this right weighed on him as he guided one of Frode's long, heavy legs out of the way. Frode waited, somewhere between pliant and tense. The tension gained the upper hand for a moment when Terje pushed the tip of his cock into his hole with more force than he’d expected he’d need.

'Are you sure...?' He didn't know what he wanted to ask - he just needed to know whether Frode was okay with this.

Frode nodded, still tense. 'Go on.'

The incomparably tight and hot sensation overwhelmed his senses too much to carefully consider what he was doing any longer. Frode gradually relaxed, taking deep, controlled breaths to counter Terje's mass backing up inexperienced thrusts. His hands clutched Terje's shoulders until Terje had to lower his entire weight onto Frode because his arms gave out.

Just when Terje thought he couldn’t last any longer, a bewildered fifth year barged into the dorm, disregarding the ineffectively blocked door. The trunk loudly scraped across the floor.

Terje froze.

‘Er… is Ethan here?’ the kid asked, not quite looking at them.

‘Fuck off,’ Frode called, not even looking to see if the kid obeyed. ‘For fuck's sake, finish it,’ he told Terje in a rough voice when the door clicked shut.

Terje really didn’t need to be told. 

The high of their first time carried over through any post-orgasmic drowsiness, and he spelled out his gratefulness with his mouth on Frode's skin. Curling up together after, giddiness came over them. Frode's face tinged red from one ear to another, across the bridge of his nose, his lips a slightly darker shade, and he smiled. Terje did too. He smiled, and smelled Frode's hair, and held him for all he was worth.

'I'll come see you in summer, when you’re back home, I promise.'

Frode let Terje prop his notebook on his naked back to write down his address, and a phone number.

Terje stepped out of the dormitory a changed man. If he got any strange looks passing through the common room with Frode at his side, he paid them no heed.

It felt awful to leave Frode behind, and Terje could see the goodbye made Frode sad underneath his stony expression. The contrast of parting was higher than Terje could bear after coming face to face with the full extent of his feelings that afternoon. He had trouble fighting back tears when he embraced Frode at the edge of the school grounds, but he went, and took the train halfway across the country, as he must.

 

 

* * *

 

 Terje told himself over and over in the two free weeks of waiting that as soon as school ended for Frode, he would act. He'd break up with Mia, and he'd call Frode to see if they could arrange to meet. He wasn't entirely certain what exactly caused his resolve to falter, but offhand remarks from his parents and his extended family certainly had a part in it. He’d become sensitive to the casually hurtful things they said about anyone who didn't fit their standards, and it made him feel ashamed of his feelings for Frode.

On top of that, Mia was clingier than ever, expecting him to reciprocate her feelings like he always had at the very least. Terje made no attempt to avoid her, but he couldn’t bring himself to break up with her, either. She didn't deserve to be pushed aside like this. They'd been together for years.

 It seemed laughable, weighing what he'd shared with her against what he shared with Frode. So many words spoken between him and Mia, and though they thought they knew each other inside and out, it turned out he hadn't even known himself.

'Is there something wrong, Terje?' she asked too soon for comfort.

He tried his damndest not to act distant, but apparently she caught on.

'No,' he lied, instead of grasping the opportunity to come out with the truth. 'I passed my exams, I’m back with you, it’s summer... Everything’s great.'

She dropped the subject, but Terje was left thinking about Frode for the rest of the day, sick with longing.

Terje let the day Frode was due to come home from school go by. He didn't come out. He didn't even make a call. He went over to Mia's and sat down for a meal with her family as if nothing had changed.

He moved through the next days in a dream-like state, disconnected from everyone he knew and loved by the burden of secrecy. After a week of pining at home he cracked. In a rare unguarded moment, the house blessedly deserted, he called the number Frode gave him with his heart racing and his hands shaking. 

'Marit Stedjeberg.'

Terje hung up immediately. He wasn't sure what he'd expected on a Sunday morning. Of course Frode’s mum was going to pick up. Only after reprimanding himself out loud for being such a chicken did he try again.

Frode's mother picked up with a slightly wary tone to her voice.

'Is Frode home?' Terje asked without introducing himself.

'I think so, hang on. Frode! It's for you!'

Marit went with it as if she got this sort of thing more often. She didn't grill him for personal details, like his own mother would.

He heard Frode mutter to his mother on the other side of the line. 'Who is it?'

'A young man. He didn't say.'

'Hello.'

Terje's breath caught in his throat upon hearing his voice.

'Hey Frode.'

'What's up?' Frode asked levelly.

'I finally got the opportunity to call so...' Terje fumbled for words. 'So, you made it home okay?'

'A week ago, yeah.'

Was that resentment in Frode's voice? He was impossible to read over the phone.

‘Did your exams go well?’

‘Always,’ Frode answered as if it irritated him that Terje doubted the outcome.

'I've missed you,' Terje blurted out.

Frode was silent for a moment. ‘Me too.’

‘I’ve been trying to tell my parents so I can come see you, but it’s very difficult to just come out with it.’

‘You still think your dad’s going to hurt you?’

‘Likely,’ Terje murmured.

‘All the more reason to come to me.’

‘God, I want to. I need a bit more time, though.’

‘Don’t wait till I’m back in school,’ Frode joked lightly.

‘I won’t. I love you.’

Frode was silent for another beat. ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’

Terje expelled a hopeless sigh. 'Talk to you soon, kjære.'

The endearment just slipped out.

'Bye,' was all Frode said, but Terje could hear the smile in his voice.

When Terje put down the receiver and turned around he had a small heart-attack. He hadn't heard Mia come into the house, or the room, for that matter. He very nearly dropped the phone, seeing her there.

'Who was that?' she asked with a guarded expression.

'A friend from school.' Terje felt like the world's biggest arsehole lying to her. He probably was, seeing as Frode didn’t know about Mia either. Terje was playing both of them, unable to decide whether he wanted to live a safe and comfortable lie or face his reality.

'Isn't _kjære_ a bit familiar for someone from school?'

‘Ehm,’ said Terje.

‘You’re sure you weren’t talking to a girl?’

‘Positive.’

‘I heard you say I love you.’

‘Yeah, I mean, we’ve become very close. Practically family.’

'You’re lying to me about something, Terje Hansen. Who were you talking to?'

'Frode,' Terje said. Speaking his name out loud threatened to twist his features into something dangerously affected.

'Call again. Let me hear, then.'

'Mia, I really don't-'

'Look at your face, Terje.' Betrayal etched itself onto hers. 'You've never even given me that look once in three years together.'

Terje felt backed into a corner. Calling meant either continuing to lie to Mia if Frode played along, Mia telling Frode she was Terje's girlfriend, or Frode telling Mia they'd been fucking. Not calling meant confirming Mia's suspicions. It was impossible to decide which was the lesser evil here.

'It's because I'm gay,' he muttered.

'You- What?' Mia's expression crumpled.

He took a shallow breath. 'I'm gay, Mia. I never knew until I met this boy. I’m so sorry. I don’t even want this.'

Mia wiped at a couple of tears that leaked silently from her eyes and sank down into a chair opposite him, the ruins of their relationship and future plans a chasm between them. ‘No, we were supposed to get married. We’re so good together. I love you.’

‘I love you, too. You mean so much to me and it kills me that it turned out this way.’

'You should've said something sooner.'

'You're right. God, I'm sorry. You don't deserve this shit.'

'What will you tell everyone now?'

'I dunno. I wish I didn't have to.’

‘Why not?’

‘Dad will... I guess I'll get kicked out sooner or later.'

'Of course not. You're his favourite son.'

Mia was a terrible judge of character as it turned out. The moment Terje was honest about his split with Mia his parents cycled through a series of reactions that sent Terje reeling and had him voluntarily packing his bag within half an hour of uttering the words. His father wanted to get violent, he could tell, and was looking for the flimsiest excuse to throw a punch. Perhaps it was easier to give in to the knee-jerk reaction of betrayal and anger on Mia's behalf - and his own disappointment, - than to sit down and listen.

His mother cried about shame and society and grandchildren even though she already had three of the latter. Her tears fuelled his father's anger to the point of ignition. The moment she began about HIV, Terje stormed upstairs.

He’d never been more glad to have been cast from the same mold as his mother's hulking brothers than when he pushed past his enraged father to leave the house. His superior size was the only thing saving him from assault. He tried not to think about what would've happened if his older brother Lars were here to skew the odds. With his bare essentials in an overnight bag, he left the farm before it could come to that, putting as much distance between him and his family as he could.

He spent a miserable night alternating between waiting endlessly on deserted platforms and travelling across the country by train, back in the direction of Edinburg, and then North-West into the Highlands.

By the end of the next day, he found the address written in his notebook.

Jens appeared at the door when Terje rang the bell. He looked only mildly surprised.

'Terje. What's up?'

'Hey. I...' Stupidly, he hadn't thought of anything to explain his sudden presence in advance. 'I ran into a bit of trouble at home so, I need a couple of days to regain my bearing. This was the only place I could think of.'

Jens regarded him, calculating.

'Sorry,' Terje said. 'It was probably-'

'Trouble pertaining to fucking my brother?' Jens quirked an eyebrow.

Terje looked away. 'Yeah.'

‘I’ll ask if he wants to put up with you.'

Torn between embarrassment and weariness, Terje remained undecided for a moment. The exhaustion gained the upper hand. 'Please.'

Jens darted back inside. Terje heard him speak in rapid Norwegian from deeper inside the house. It was hard to make out what was being said over the distance.

It wasn't Jens who came back to meet him.

Frode regarded him from the shadows of the hallway, the dull gleam of his ginger hair framing his face.

'Sorry,' Terje repeated to him. 'I had to leave that place and you were all I could think about.'

Frode beckoned him with a jerk of his head, and pulled the door shut behind Terje. Their sudden proximity in the hallway set Terje alight. Frode lightly stroked his arm, and led the way to a bright kitchen, where Jens sat having tea with a child of indeterminate gender. Big grey eyes peeked out behind curly white bangs.

'Hello!' said the child with a smile.

'Hey,' Terje murmured. ‘I’m Terje.’

'Can I make tea for Terje?' the child asked Jens in an unsubtle whisper.

Jens nodded. 'Carefully, then, Espen.'

Espen made a dash for an extra cup and poured tea from the pot with a frown of concentration.

He presented the cup to Terje with a smile of modest self-congratulation.

'Thank you, Espen.'

Espen dragged his chair close when Terje sat down at the table, barraging him with questions from where he came from to whether he'd stay for dinner, or, and he said this with a gasp at his own inventiveness - stay the night. He invited Terje to stay in his room, which got a rise out of Frode, who told him to shut up.

Terje mustered a smile for the crestfallen child, and thanked him for the offer as if he'd consider it. 

When the light in the kitchen changed to that of early summer evening, a red-haired lady in a sun dress came in with vegetables from the garden.

Terje rose to introduce himself.

‘You know what to do, boys,’ Marit said with a tired smile. ‘And you must be Terje. Welcome. I was wondering whether we’d get to meet you soon.’

‘Apologies for coming over unannounced, Mrs. Stedjeberg.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Frode told me to expect you.’

Jens spurred his brothers to help make dinner. He set Frode to peel a mountain of potatoes while Espen fetched them knives and pots.

Terje helped where he could. Once Marit put the pots on the stove, Frode took Terje upstairs to move Terje’s bag into Frode’s spacious room under the awnings of the old house. Terje sat down on the lower bunk. The top one wasn’t made, and there was a big bright rectangle on the wallpaper where an extra closet had shielded it from daylight.  

‘You look like hell,’ Frode said, closing the door behind him.

‘I guess I’m just tired. Been up all night travelling.’

‘Bet you’re upset about your parents.’

Terje sighed. ‘I saw it coming from a mile away.’

‘Doesn’t make it any less hurtful.’

‘I’m sure it’ll hit me at some later point.’

Frode nodded.

A door opened downstairs.

'I'm home, lads!' called a cheerful man's voice.

'Pappa!' Espen’s shrill voice echoed from the kitchen.

‘Thought you said you didn’t have a dad,’ Terje remarked to Frode.

‘Stepdad. He doesn’t count.’ Frode surveyed the room, and raked his hair back. ‘I’d better ask if you can stay in my room. Since you’re my boyfriend and everything.’

A man eventually followed Frode into the room with arms full of bed linens and towels, followed on his heels in turn by Espen.

Espen’s dad motioned for Frode to take the towels. ‘So, ah, hide these wherever. Don’t leave them for your mother to find once they’re used.’

Frode’s face tinged red as he put them in his night stand.

With a hand free, Espen’s dad extended it to Terje. ‘Nice to meet you, Terje. Anyone who can put a smile on Frode’s face is a very welcome guest here.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

 ‘Let’s have dinner, I’ll make the bed for you after. Don’t worry about anything just yet, okay? Marit and I will help you figure things out after you’ve had some food and some sleep.’

‘Can’t tell you how grateful I am.’

When Espen’s dad left the room, Frode lingered indecisively. Espen also remained, staring up at them with curiosity.

‘Shoo!’ said Frode.

Espen darted out of the room with a squeal.

Frode finally kissed Terje, then, and held him tight for a moment. Just before Terje closed his eyes, he saw a curly head peeking around the door from the hallway with comically big eyes. He smiled against Frode’s lips.

‘What?’ Frode murmured.

‘Nothing. I just feel a whole lot happier than I have any right to be.’ 


End file.
